Fever
by SouthSideStory
Summary: Today he is thirty-five, and this is the first birthday Sasuke has spent in Konoha in over ten years. He doesn't intend to waste it.


**Fever**

* * *

Konoha's mild spring melts into the warmest summer in living memory. Humidity thickens the air, and everyone hurries from place to place, trying to escape the heat in the refuge of cool buildings. The sun never stops shining, even when rain breaks through the mugginess to shower the village.

Today is sweltering, like the day before and the day before that, but Sasuke doesn't mind the weather. It reminds him of the summers of his youth, when he would ride on Itachi's back and eat tomatoes right off the vine. Sweet and red, that's how he remembers the fruit from his mother's garden.

"What are you thinking about?" Sakura asks. She rests her head against his shoulder, body pressed close to the place where his left arm used to be.

Instead of answering, he pulls her nearer and presses a kiss to the seal on her forehead.

Sarada is gone on a mission and won't be back for at least the rest of the day. There's a part of him that worries for his daughter's safety, but he has too much faith in her abilities to let this truly frighten him. She has his eyes and her mother's strength and a fortitude that is all her own.

He takes Sakura by the hand and leads her inside their house. Today he is thirty-five, and this is the first birthday he has spent in Konoha in over ten years. He doesn't intend to waste it reminiscing on the porch.

Two windows in the bedroom are open because Sakura likes the smell of fresh air, but instead of tempting a breeze inside she's only let in the heat.

Sakura smiles at him, and he can't help but think that she is every bit as beautiful today as she was when they were half-children who were waging war far too young. Sasuke puts his hand in her hair, savors the shell pink softness, then guides her to kiss him. She tastes like honeysuckles and rice.

They've made love a dozen times since he got home last week, but every joining is sweeter than the last. This time it starts slow, but it doesn't stay that way; they have too many years to make up for to dawdle. They undress and kiss and put their hands on each other's bodies—bodies that have aged in his absence, but Sasuke couldn't care less. He likes that her breasts are fuller and heavier, that her once-narrow hips have rounded. He would like anything so long as it belongs to Sakura.

They make it the bed, but only just barely, and then Sasuke kisses his way down her body, lingering on her throat, the valley between her breasts, her navel, the sharp incline of a sweet hipbone. Then he puts his mouth between her legs and works her with his tongue, until his wife is trembling and crying out and begging him to have her. He gets up on his knees, takes his cock in hand, and presses himself against her wetness. Sakura takes him eagerly, moaning, begging him to move faster, harder. So Sasuke fucks her without restraint, his remaining hand holding her thigh tightly while he pumps into her. There will be a five-fingered bruise there in the aftermath, a mark that Sakura won't erase because she likes to carry evidence of their lovemaking on her person, long after the sex itself is over. He comes, eyes closed and mouth open, a harsh breath falling into a groan on his lips, as he empties himself inside of her.

Sasuke releases her, falls to the bed beside his wife. He's flushed, hotter than he's ever been in his life, but it doesn't matter. Not when Sakura lies beside him, breathing just as heavily as he is, sweat beading on her fair skin.

"I've missed you so much," she says.

He's missed her too, but Sasuke knows he can't voice the words. That the hard truth of his years away will catch in his throat.

"But you're here now," Sakura says, "and I'm thankful for that, Sasuke."

It's difficult for him to feel any kind of gratitude when so much time has been stolen from them, but Sasuke determines not to think on this right now. In this moment, he's going to let go of the past and all its hurts, to lie on a love-rumpled bed and enjoy the summer sweet heat of his wife's kiss.

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 **Author's Notes:** This is my first entry for SS Smut Month! Inspired by the lovely DeepPoeticGirl whose own submission sparked my imagination.


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